Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Linda's Book Selections

All three of my book selections are considered experimental works that push the envelope on the traditional form of the novel. I have not read any of these yet but Only Revolutions is on my "to be read” pile.

If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler by Italo Calvino 1979

If on a Winter's Night a Traveler is a marvel of ingenuity, an experimental text that looks longingly back to the great age of narration--"when time no longer seemed stopped and did not yet seem to have exploded." Italo Calvino's novel is in one sense a comedy in which the two protagonists, the Reader and the Other Reader, ultimately end up married, having almost finished If on a Winter's Night a Traveler. In another, it is a tragedy, a reflection on the difficulties of writing and the solitary nature of reading. The Reader buys a fashionable new book, which opens with an exhortation: "Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought. Let the world around you fade." Alas, after 30 or so pages, he discovers that his copy is corrupted, and consists of nothing but the first section, over and over. Returning to the bookshop, he discovers the volume, which he thought was by Calvino, is actually by the Polish writer Bazakbal. Given the choice between the two, he goes for the Pole, as does the Other Reader, Ludmilla. But this copy turns out to be by yet another writer, as does the next, and the next.

The real Calvino intersperses 10 different pastiches--stories of menace, spies, mystery, premonition--with explorations of how and why we read, make meanings, and get our bearings or fail to. Meanwhile the Reader and Ludmilla try to reach, and read, each other. If on a Winter's Night is dazzling, vertiginous, and deeply romantic. "What makes lovemaking and reading resemble each other most is that within both of them times and spaces open, different from measurable time and space." Amazon.com

Wikipedia

Pale Fire by Vladimir Nabokov 1962

Like Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov's Pale Fire is a masterpiece that imprisons us inside the mazelike head of a mad émigré. Yet Pale Fire is more outrageously hilarious, and its narrative convolutions make the earlier book seem as straightforward as a fairy tale. Here's the plot--listen carefully! John Shade is a homebody poet in New Wye, U.S.A. He writes a 999-line poem about his life, and what may lie beyond death. This novel (and seldom has the word seemed so woefully inadequate) consists of both that poem and an extensive commentary on it by the poet's crazy neighbor, Charles Kinbote.

According to this deranged annotator, he had urged Shade to write about his own homeland--the northern kingdom of Zembla. It soon becomes clear that this fabulous locale may well be a figment of Kinbote's colorfully cracked, prismatic imagination. Meanwhile, he manages to twist the poem into an account of Zembla's King Charles--whom he believes himself to be--and the monarch's eventual assassination by the revolutionary Jakob Gradus.

In the course of this dizzying narrative, shots are indeed fired. But it's Shade who takes the hit, enabling Kinbote to steal the dead poet's manuscript and set about annotating it. Is that perfectly clear? By now it should be obvious that Pale Fire is not only a whodunit but a who-wrote-it. There isn't, of course, a single solution. But Nabokov's best biographer, Brian Boyd, has come up with an ingenious suggestion: he argues that Shade is actually guiding Kinbote's mad hand from beyond the grave, nudging him into completing what he'd intended to be a 1,000-line poem. Read this magical, melancholic mystery and see if you agree. Amazon.com

Wikipedia

Only Revolutions by Mark Danieleqski 2006

A pastiche of Joyce and Beckett, with heapings of Derrida's Glas and Thomas Pynchon's The Crying of Lot 49 thrown in for good measure, Danielewski's follow-up to House of Leaves is a similarly dizzying tour of the modernist and postmodernist heights—and a similarly impressive tour de force. It comprises two monologues, one by Sam and one by Hailey, both "Allmighty sixteen and freeeeee," each narrating the same road trip, or set of neo-globo-revolutionary events—or a revolution's end: "Everyone loves the Dream but I kill it." Figuring out what's happening is a big part of reading the book. The verse-riffs narrations, endlessly alliterative and punning (like Joyce) and playfully, bleakly existential (like Beckett), begin at opposite ends of the book, upside down from one another, with each page divided and shared. Each gets 180 words per page, but in type that gets smaller as they get closer to their ends (Glas was more haphazard), so they each gets exactly half a page only at the midway point of the book: page 180—or half of a revolution of 360 degrees. A time line of world events, from November 22, 1863 ("the abolition of slavery"), to January 19, 2063 (blank, like everything from January 18, 2006, on), runs down the side of every page. The page numbers, when riffled flip-book style, revolve. The book's design is a marvel, and as a feat of Pynchonesque puzzlebookdom, it's magnificent. The book's difficulty, though, carries a self-consciousness that Joyce & Co. decidedly lack, and the jury will be out on whether the tricks are of the for-art's-sake variety or more like a terrific video game.

Wikipedia
Amazon

Monday, October 22, 2007

Danica's Recent Reads

While Danica did not provide her favorite books she had this to say:

I have not read Lamb, but I did recently read his most recent book You Suck. That was another thriller.I am loving Reading Lolita in Tehran. Also, I have been reading The Omnivore's Dilemma (non-fiction but fascinating), The Pick-Up, and The Assault on Reason. The Pick-Up is good. It is interesting in that it is written in such a way that narrator's perspective changes between characters, yet you don't know the name or the location of any specific thing happening.

John's Favorite Books

John Bauter writes:

Favorite books are easy for me.
#1 by far is Dante's Divine Comedy.
#2 is the Brothers Karamazov by Dostoevsky.
#3 is the Alienist by Caleb Carr.
#4 is the Fountainhead by Ayn Rand.
I like a lot of Ayn Rand's books and could easily put a bunch of them on there besides this one but the Fountainhead is a favorite. I don't think I have a fifth that is worthy of the distinction.

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Linda's Favorite Books

Here are my favorite books in no particular order.

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand

Winter's Tale by Mark Helprin

Awakening by Kate Chopin

You only get four, not five because I couldn't come up with another one that lived up to these. If I come up with one I will add it.

Thursday, October 04, 2007

Melissa's Favorite Books

It was painful to put these in "order" (yes, they are in order), but of the many books I have read these are my faves:


1. A Gracious Plenty--Sherri Reynolds (arguably, one of the best fiction writers I have encountered in years of reading)


2. A Widow for One Year-John Irving (complex, layered, just amazing storytelling)


3. Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry by Mildred Taylor (technically this book is best suited for adolescents, but it left an abiding impression on me.)


4. My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult


5. The Paperbag Princess by Robert Munsch (yes, technically this is a children's book, but every woman should have a copy of this book. Some men too.)

Book Selections

My book selections (in no particular order) are as follows:

1) Saturday - Ian McEwan

Synopsis
From the pen of a master — the #1 bestselling, Booker Prize–winning author of Atonement — comes an astonishing novel that captures the fine balance of happiness and the unforeseen threats that can destroy it. A brilliant, thrilling page-turner that will keep readers on the edge of their seats.Saturday is a masterful novel set within a single day in February 2003. Henry Perowne is a contented man — a successful neurosurgeon, happily married to a newspaper lawyer, and enjoying good relations with his children. Henry wakes to the comfort of his large home in central London on this, his day off. He is as at ease here as he is in the operating room. Outside the hospital, the world is not so easy or predictable. There is an impending war against Iraq, and a general darkening and gathering pessimism since the New York and Washington attacks two years before. On this particular Saturday morning, Perowne’s day moves through the ordinary to the extraordinary. After an unusual sighting in the early morning sky, he makes his way to his regular squash game with his anaesthetist, trying to avoid the hundreds of thousands of marchers filling the streets of London, protesting against the war. A minor accident in his car brings him into a confrontation with a small-time thug. To Perowne’s professional eye, something appears to be profoundly wrong with this young man, who in turn believes the surgeon has humiliated him — with savage consequences that will lead Henry Perowne to deploy all his skills to keep his family alive.
The New York Times - Michiko Kakutani
Though Saturday is too indebted to Mrs. Dalloway to resonate with the fierce originality of the author's last book, Atonement, it's clear that with this volume, Mr. McEwan has not only produced one of the most powerful pieces of post-9/11 fiction yet published, but also fulfilled that very primal mission of the novel: to show how we - a privileged few of us, anyway - live today.More Reviews and Recommendations
Biography
Ian McEwan, one of the most acclaimed literary novelists working today, is also one of the most adventurous. His books are as unsettling for their insights into the human condition as they are for their at times macabre situations and plotlines. But however unexpected the story, McEwan always delivers a work of wonderfully fluid writing and distinct, memorable characters.

2) Black Swan Green - David Mitchell

Synopsis
From award-winning writer David Mitchell comes a sinewy, meditative novel of boyhood on the cusp of adulthood and the old on the cusp of the new.Black Swan tracks a single year in what is, for thirteen-year-old Jason Taylor, the sleepiest village in muddiest Worcestershire in a dying Cold War England, 1982. But the thirteen chapters, each a short story in its own right, create an exquisitely observed world that is anything but sleepy. A world of Kissingeresque realpolitik enacted in boys’ games on a frozen lake; of “nightcreeping” through the summer backyards of strangers; of the tabloid-fueled thrills of the Falklands War and its human toll; of the cruel, luscious Dawn Madden and her power-hungry boyfriend, Ross Wilcox; of a certain Madame Eva van Outryve de Crommelynck, an elderly bohemian emigré who is both more and less than she appears; of Jason’s search to replace his dead grandfather’s irreplaceable smashed watch before the crime is discovered; of first cigarettes, first kisses, first Duran Duran Lps, and first deaths; of Margaret Thatcher’s recession; of Gypsies camping in the woods and the hysteria they inspire; and, even closer to home, of a slow-motion divorce in four seasons.Pointed, funny, profound, left-field, elegiac, and painted with the stuff of life, Black Swan Green is David Mitchell’s subtlest and most effective achievement to date.From the Hardcover edition.
The Washington Post - Ron Charles
Mitchell makes all this look easy, but from the pen of anyone less gifted, these stories would turn precious, maudlin or dull. He has a perfect ear for that most calamitous year, the first of the teens, when we come face-to-face with the volatile nature of life. There's plenty of sadness in that discovery, of course, but humor, too, and he spins them together subtly in this touching novel.More Reviews and Recommendations
Biography
David Mitchell is the author of Ghostwritten, Number9Dream, and Cloud Atlas, the last 2 finalists for the Booker Prize. Granta magazine named him one of Britain’s best young novelists in 2003. He lives in County Cork with his wife and daughter.

3) The Emperor's Children - Claire Messud

Synopsis
From a writer "of near-miraculous perfection" (The New York Times Book Review) and "a literary intelligence far surpassing most other writers of her generation" (San Francisco Chronicle), The Emperor's Children is a dazzling, masterful novel about the intersections in the lives of three friends, now on the cusp of their thirties, making their way-and not-in New York City. There is beautiful, sophisticated Marina Thwaite-an "It" girl finishing her first book; the daughter ofMurray Thwaite,celebratedintellectual andjournalist-and her two closest friends from Brown, Danielle, a quietly appealing television producer, and Julius, acash-strapped freelance critic. The delicious complications that arise among them become dangerous when Murray's nephew, Frederick "Bootie" Tubb, an idealistic college dropout determined to make his mark, comes to town. As the skies darken, it is Bootie's unexpected decisions-and their stunning, heartbreaking outcome-that will change each of their lives forever. A richly drawn, brilliantly observed novel of fate and fortune-of innocence and experience, seduction and self-invention; of ambition, including literary ambition; of glamour, disaster, and promise-The Emperor's Children is a tour de force that brings to life a city, a generation, and the way we live in this moment.
The Washington Post - Ron Charles
We've all caught glimpses of them before, but Claire Messud has captured and pinned under glass members of a striking subspecies of the modern age: the smart, sophisticated, anxious young people who think of themselves as the cultural elite. Trained for greatness in the most prestigious universities, these shiny liberal arts graduates emerge with expensive tastes, the presumption of entitlement and no real economic prospects whatsoever. If you're one of them or if you can't resist the delicious pleasure of pitying them, you'll relish every page of The Emperor's Children.More Reviews and Recommendations
Biography
Claire Messud's first novel, When the World Was Steady, and her book of novellas, The Hunters, were finalists for the PEN/Faulkner Award; her second novel, The Last Life, was a Publishers Weekly Best Book of the Year and an Editor's Choice at The Village Voice. All three books were New York Times Notable Books of the Year. She has been awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship and a Radcliffe Fellowship, and is the current recipient of the Strauss Living Award from the American Academy of Arts and Letters. She lives in Somerville, Massachusetts, with her husband and children.


I have read the first two , but not read the third.

Scott

Favorite Books

My favorite books in no particular order are:

1) Infinite Jest - David Foster Wallace - Wallace's Tour de Force.
2) The Fountainhead - Ayn Rand - Ayn had it right - viva la revolucion!
3) Best of Roald Dahl - Adult short stories by Roald Dahl which are delightfully wicked
4) Zen and the Art of Motorcyle Maintenance - Robert Pirsig - Really I wasn't a hippie
5) Mastering the Art of French Cooking - Julia Child - the anti-rachelray - need i say more?

Scott

Monday, October 01, 2007

Favorite Books

I guess I will go first.

1. The Pillars of the Earth, Ken Follett
2. One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
3. The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald
4. Great Expectations, Charles Dickens
5. Trinity, Leon Uris

Friday, September 28, 2007

What's your favorite book?

Christine had an excellent suggestion that we each post our 3-5 favorite books of all time. Alumni, please participate as well! Please post in the comment section before the October meeting.


Meeting October 24, 2007

We will next be meeting October 24, a Wednesday night, at Rachelle’s house to discuss No Country for Old Men. Scott will present his book selections and I will distribute the next book, Lamb by Christopher Moore.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Split decision

I vote for Divi-dero.

Friday, August 10, 2007

Liz's Book Selections

I won't be able to make the August 30 meeting, so here are my book selections:

Reservation Road
by
John Burnham Schwartz


From the Publisher
A riveting novel of feeling and suspense in which grief and punishment become tragically intertwined. At the close of a beautiful summer day near the quiet Connecticut town where they live, the Learner family--Ethan and Grace, their children, Josh and Emma--stop at a gas station on their way home from a concert. Josh Learner, lost in a ten-year-old's private world, is standing at the edge of the road when a car comes racing around the bend. He is hit and instantly killed. The car speeds away. From this moment forward, Reservation Road becomes a harrowing countdown to the confrontation between two very different men. The hit-and-run driver is a small-town lawyer named Dwight Arno, a man in desperate need of a second chance. Dwight is also the father of a ten-year-old boy, who was asleep in the car the night Josh Learner was killed. Now Dwight must decide whether to run from his crime or to pay the price for what he did. Ethan Learner, a respected professor of literature at a small New England college, has seen his orderly world shattered in a single moment, yet persists in the belief that he can find the unknown man who killed his son. Behind their stories are those of eight-year-old Emma, who can't stop thinking her brother's death was her fault, and of Grace, who must find the strength to keep herself and her family together, and to be the mother Emma so badly needs. In a gripping narrative woven from the voices of Ethan, Dwight, and Grace, Reservation Road tellsthe story of two ordinary families facing an extraordinary crisis--a book that reads like a thriller but opens up a world rich with psychological nuance and emotional wisdom. Reservation Road explores the terrain of grief even as it astonishes with unexpected redemption: powerful and wrenching and impossible to put down.

From The Critics
James Hynes: Reservation Road is a page-turner, but along the way there is much to linger over...it never fails to chill us with the sober knowledge that everything we have, and everything we are, can change in an instant. -- The Washington Post

David Bowman - New York Observer: A beautiful novel. An important novel.

Kit Reed - New York Times Book Review: A triumph of form, pacing and power. . .character-driven as it is, it reads like a thriller, swift and complete.

Tom De Haven - Entertainment Weekly: One of those rare — very rare — novels that you don't so much read as inhabit. . .But it's the novel's conclusion, as perfect as it is sudden, shocking and completely unexpected, that will stick in your memory.

Erica Noonan: An unexpected pleasure. . .it will leave the reader entranced as well as moved. — The Boston Herald

Publishers Weekly: 'I wasn't rich, but my life was secure. That had always been its fundamental premise,' observes Ethan Learner, an English professor at a small college in Connecticut. Moments later, his 10-year-old son, Josh, is killed by a hit-and-run driver, inaugurating a novel of terrible beauty that charts the progress of grief with concerto-like precision. For Ethan, his wife, Grace, and their daughter, Emma, Josh becomes both a cold absence and a constant, haunting, unfulfilled promise. For Dwight -- the driver who killed Josh-- the event stands as more evidence of a significantly flawed life. Dwight is no cartoon villain; with a son, an ex-wife and a history of sudden violence, he's like a lesser Ethan -- a poor father who, through incompetence, has killed another man's son. Schwartz structures the book with the tautness of a thriller -- Will Ethan find his son's murderer? -- but this book quickly becomes much larger than a simple revenge tale. Neither does it become maudlin or forced. Ethan, Grace and Dwight all seem ruined by the boy's death, but, like three drowning people, they keep fighting for air--aided by Schwartz's strong, measured prose and exquisitely chosen metaphors (describing his now-troubled marriage, Ethan says, 'Our house... a wordless, internalized diaspora... a landscape riven with fault lines'). 'I want to tell this right," Ethan says several times during the course of the book. The author's first novel, Bicycle Days, gathered solid reviews but modest notice. With this effort, he seems poised to reach a break-out audience. If a story about overwhelming tragedy can be told right, this novel is--telling it with wise observation and abundant humanity. (PW best book of 1998)

Library Journal: The author of Bicycle Days returns with a powerful story about two unhappy Connecticut families linked by one violent moment. The Learners are the victims of tragedy: an ordinary stop at a country gas station turns to horror when their oldest child is killed by a hit-and-run driver in full view of his father, Ethan. As his wife and small daughter suffer through grief, depression, and guilt, Ethan is consumed by his compulsion to find and punish his son's murderer after the police give up. Nearby, failed attorney and divorced father Dwight Arno tortures himself with his memories of speeding away from the accident. Has running saved his fragile relationship with his own son (a schoolmate of the Learner boy), or has it made the unbearable problems between Dwight and his family even worse? More than slightly hoping to be apprehended, Dwight begins to behave oddly and deteriorate mentally, even as Ethan closes in on him. Narrated mainly by the two fathers, this is a forceful psychological novel in which nobody wins -- except readers appreciating Schwartz's well-wrought prose. -- Starr E. Smith, Marymount University Library, Alexandria,Virginia

Walter Kirn: Part hardboiled thrilled, part sensitive melodrama, with tears for the ladies and gunplay for the guys,....[He]tells the story from complementary viewpoints that must sooner or later collide and clash....Schwartz stays close enough to his characters' thoughts to keep the debate authentic and personal, rather than calculated and abstract. --Time Magazine

Michiko Kakutani: A powerful and affecting novel. . .haunting. . .highly suspenseful. . .compelling to read -- The New York Times

Vanity Fair: A poignant thriller. . .quietly breathtaking.. . . a suspenseful literary novel. --
Deirdre Donahue

It possesses a conclusion of such power that it would be a literary crime to reveal it. -- USA Today

Kit Reed: A triumph of form, pacing and power. . .character-driven as it is, it reads like a thriller, swift and complete. -- New York Times Book Review

Sandra Scofield: A pleasure to read. Suspense is redefined here.

Kirkus Reviews: The complex stages of guilt, grief, and recovery in the wake of a boy's hit-and-run death are exquisitely portrayed in this heartrending story by Schwartz (Bicycle Days), whose characterizations are as finely nuanced as they are sympathetic. Ten-year-old Josh Learner was killed by a hit-and-run driver that summer night in Connecticut, on the way back from a symphony picnic with his family; for the three adults—his parents and the driver of the speeding car—who saw what happened, it was as if their lives stopped then, too. His father Ethan, an English professor at a small college nearby, bears guilt for not having insisted that Josh come away from the road; his mother Grace is guilt-ridden as well, for having insisted they stop at the gas station so that Josh's sister Emma could use the restroom; and Dwight, running late after seeing a Red Sox game with his son and worried about the wrath of his ex at not having Sam back on time, not only has to bear the certainty of having killed someone Sam's age, but also the fact that the sleeping boy received a black eye from the accident—to go with the broken jaw that Dwight had given him accidentally on another occasion. In the ensuing months, Ethan tries to carry on while Grace shuts down almost completely, losing her business and her bearings. The police investigation goes nowhere, and when Ethan blows up at the officer in charge, he guarantees there'll be no further help from that quarter. Dwight, meanwhile, has let his legal practice go to hell, alienated himself from Sam and everyone else, and taken to heavy drinking while waiting for someone to find him out. After more than a year, Ethan finally does—and as the first snow of that year falls, they enact a ritual of revenge both primal and fitting. Rarely have three lives in crisis been detailed with such compassion and care: a tragic, utterly absorbing tale.


No Country for Old Men
by
Cormac McCarthy

From the Publisher
"Llewelyn Moss, hunting antelope near the Rio Grande, instead finds men shot dead, a load of heroin, and more than $2 million in cash. Packing the money out, he knows, will change everything. But only after two more men are murdered does a victim's burning car lead Sheriff Bell to the carnage out in the desert, and he soon realizes how desperately Moss and his young wife need protection. One party in the failed transaction hires an ex-Special Forces officer to defend his interests against a mesmerizing freelancer, while on either side are men accustomed to spectacular violence and mayhem. The pursuit stretches up and down and across the border, each participant seemingly determined to answer what one asks another: how does a man decide in what order to abandon his life?" A harrowing story of a war that society is waging on itself, and an enduring meditation on the ties of love and blood and duty that inform lives and shape destinies.

From The Critics
Walter Kirn - The New York Times: Such sinister high hokum might be ridiculous if McCarthy didn't keep it moving faster than the reader can pause to think about it. He's a whiz with the joystick, a master-level gamer who changes screens and situations every few pages. The choreographed conflicts, set on a stage as big as Texas but as spiritually claustrophobic as a back-room cockfight ring, resolve themselves with a mechanistic certitude that satisfies the brain's brute love of pattern and bypasses its lofty emotional centers. Like Bell, we can only sit back and watch the horror, not wishfully influence its outcome. The clock has been wound, the key's been thrown away, and the round will not end until the hands reach midnight. The book leaves the feeling that we don't have long to wait.

Jeffery Lent - The Washington Post: … this is an entertaining novel from one of our best writers. Often seen as a fabulist and an engineer of dark morality tales, McCarthy is first a storyteller.

Publishers Weekly: Seven years after Cities of the Plain brought his acclaimed Border Trilogy to a close, McCarthy returns with a mesmerizing modern-day western. In 1980 southwest Texas, Llewelyn Moss, hunting antelope near the Rio Grande, stumbles across several dead men, a bunch of heroin and $2.4 million in cash. The bulk of the novel is a gripping man-on-the-run sequence relayed in terse, masterful prose as Moss, who's taken the money, tries to evade Wells, an ex-Special Forces agent employed by a powerful cartel, and Chigurh, an icy psychopathic murderer armed with a cattle gun and a dangerous philosophy of justice. Also concerned about Moss's whereabouts is Sheriff Bell, an aging lawman struggling with his sense that there's a new breed of man (embodied in Chigurh) whose destructive power he simply cannot match. In a series of thoughtful first-person passages interspersed throughout, Sheriff Bell laments the changing world, wrestles with an uncomfortable memory from his service in WWII and-a soft ray of light in a book so steeped in bloodshed-rejoices in the great good fortune of his marriage. While the action of the novel thrills, it's the sensitivity and wisdom of Sheriff Bell that makes the book a profound meditation on the battle between good and evil and the roles choice and chance play in the shaping of a life. Agent, Amanda Urban. (July) Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.

Library Journal: McCarthy has reached the pinnacle of literary success, with critical recognition, best-seller status, and cult-author cachet. It is a difficult position to maintain, and it doesn't help that his idiosyncratic prose style, which tries to wrest poetry from hardscrabble lives, has become increasingly mannered. In his latest novel, McCarthy stumbles headlong into self-parody. Llewelyn Moss is a humble welder who hunts not for sport but to put food on the table. Tracking a wounded antelope one morning, Moss finds an abandoned truck filled with bullet-ridden corpses, sealed packages of "Mexican brown," and $2 million in cash. He leaves the dope behind but takes the money, changing in that moment from hunter to prey. Moss is tailed by Anton Chigurh, an updated version of the satanic Judge Holden from Blood Meridian (1985). Straight-arrow Sheriff Bell, the old man of the title, tries his best to save young Moss, but Chigurh is unstoppable. McCarthy lays out his rancorous worldview with all the nuance and subtlety of conservative talk radio. It is hard to believe that this is the same person who wrote Suttree (1979). A made-for-television melodrama filled with guns and muscle cars, this will nonetheless be in demand; for public and academic libraries. [See Prepub Alert, LJ 4/1/05.]-Edward B. St. John, Loyola Law Sch. Lib., Los Angeles Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.



Divisadero
by
Michael Ondaatje

From the Publisher
From the celebrated author of The English Patient and In the Skin of a Lion comes a remarkable new novel of intersecting lives that ranges across continents and time.In the 1970s in northern California, near Gold Rush country, a father and his teenage daughters, Anna and Claire, work their farm with the help of Coop, an enigmatic young man who makes his home with them. Theirs is a makeshift family, until it is riven by an incident of violence — of both hand and heart — that sets fire to the rest of their lives.Divisadero takes us from the city of San Francisco to the raucous backrooms of Nevada’s casinos, and eventually to the landscape of south central France. It is here, outside a small rural village, that Anna becomes immersed in the life and the world of a writer from an earlier time — Lucien Segura. His compelling story, which has its beginnings at the turn of the century, circles around “the raw truth” of Anna’s own life, the one she’s left behind but can never truly leave. And as the narrative moves back and forth in time and place, we discover each of the characters managing to find some foothold in a present rough-hewn from the past. Breathtakingly evoked and with unforgettable characters, Divisadero is a multi-layered novel about passion, loss, and the unshakable past, about the often discordant demands of family, love, and memory. It is Michael Ondaatje’s most intimate and beautiful novel to date.

From The Critics
Janet Maslin - The New York Times … [Ondaatje] is a writer of intense acuity. His eminence is well earned. This book is initially difficult, but the more you give Divisadero, the more it gives in return.

Jeff Turrentine - The Washington Post: What an unusual, and unusually rich, experience it is to read Divisadero, the new novel by Michael Ondaatje -- like going for a walk in a familiar neck of the woods, getting lost and then discovering an entirely new neck of woods filled with unknown wonders. The title provides only the subtlest of clues: It's the name of the San Francisco street on which one character, Anna, lives. Within the story, it's mere trivia; none of the novel's action takes place there, and Anna herself only mentions her street in passing. But Ondaatje apparently loves what that word connotes -- a line between two realms, separating them but also hinging them. And how appropriate, for Divisadero is ultimately a story about two worlds divided by decades and oceans, but connected by clarion, undiminishable echoes.
Publishers Weekly Davis (American Splendor) reads Ondaatje's puzzle of a novel delicately, as if hesitant to jostle a single piece out of place. Often playing emotionally frazzled characters on screen, Davis is far more understated here in offering up Ondaatje's hybrid narrative-one that goes from 1970s San Francisco to early 20th-century France, linking past and present with loose tendrils of memory and history. She does a fine job with the tricky French names and nomenclature, and puts her natural gifts as an actor to good use with her subtle, understated, well-oiled reading. Davis still sounds as no-nonsense as ever, but her skilled reading offers a good deal more patience and tenderness than her often-testy characters do. Simultaneous release with the Knopf hardcover (Reviews, Apr. 16). (June)

Library Journal: Along with a mysterious guy named Coop, Anna and Claire help their father on his Northern California ranch, circa 1970, until a terrible incident sends Anna on the run. Ondaatje's first novel in six years; with an 11-city tour.

Jhumpa Lahiri: My life always stops for a new book by Michael Ondaatje. I began Divisadero as soon as it came into my possession and over the course of a few evenings was captivated by Ondaatje's finest novel to date. The story is simple, almost mythical, stemming from a family on a California farm that is ruptured just as it is about to begin. Two daughters, Anna and Claire, are raised not just as siblings but with the intense bond of twins, interchangeable, inseparable. Coop, a boy from a neighboring farm, is folded into the girls' lives as a hired hand and quasi-brother. Anna, Claire, and Coop form a triangle that is intimate and interdependent, a triangle that brutally explodes less than thirty pages into the book. We are left with a handful of glass, both narratively and thematically. But Divisadero is a deeply ordered, full-bodied work, and the fragmented characters, severed from their shared past, persevere in relation to one another, illuminating both what it means to belong to a family and what it means to be alone in the world. The notion of twins, of one becoming two, pervades the novel, and so the farm in California is mirrored by a farm in France, the setting for another plot line in the second half of the book and giving us, in a sense, two novels in one. But the stories are not only connected but calibrated by Ondaatje to reveal a haunting pattern of parallels, echoes, and reflections across time and place. Like Nabokov, another master of twinning, Ondaatje's method is deliberate but discreet, and it was only in rereading this beautiful book--which I wanted to do as soon as I finished it--that the intricate play of doubles was revealed. Every sign of the author's genius is here: the searing imagery, the incandescent writing, the calm probing of life's most turbulent and devastating experiences. No one writes as affectingly about passion, about time and memory, about violence--subjects that have shaped Ondaatje's previous novels. But there is a greater muscularity to Divisadero, an intensity born from its restraint. Episodes are boiled down to their essential elements, distilled but dramatic, resulting in a mosaic of profound dignity, with an elegiac quietude that only the greatest of writers can achieve.

Friday, June 29, 2007

Hera's Book Selection



THE AMAZING ADVENTURES OF KAVALIER & CLAY
Michael Chabon

Like the comic books that animate and inspire it, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay is both larger than life and of it too. Complete with golems and magic and miraculous escapes and evil nemeses and even hand-to-hand Antarctic battle, it pursues the most important questions of love and war, dreams and art, across pages brimming with longing and hope. Samuel Klayman--self-described little man, city boy, and Jew--first meets Josef Kavalier when his mother shoves him aside in his own bed, telling him to make room for their cousin, a refugee from Nazi-occupied Prague. It's the beginning, however unlikely, of a beautiful friendship. In short order, Sam's talent for pulp plotting meets Joe's faultless, academy-trained line, and a comic-book superhero is born. A sort of lantern-jawed equalizer clad in dark blue long underwear, the Escapist "roams the globe, performing amazing feats and coming to the aid of those who languish in tyranny's chains!" Before they know it, Kavalier and Clay (as Sam Klayman has come to be known) find themselves at the epicenter of comics' golden age.
But Joe Kavalier is driven by motives far more complex than your average hack. In fact, his first act as a comic-book artist is to deal Hitler a very literal blow. (The cover of the first issue shows the Escapist delivering "an immortal haymaker" onto the Führer's realistically bloody jaw.) In subsequent years, the Escapist and his superhero allies take on the evil Iron Chain and their leader Attila Haxoff--their battles drawn with an intensity that grows more disturbing as Joe's efforts to rescue his family fail. He's fighting their war with brush and ink, Joe thinks, and the idea sustains him long enough to meet the beautiful Rosa Saks, a surrealist artist and surprisingly retrograde muse. But when even that fiction fails him, Joe performs an escape of his own, leaving Rosa and Sammy to pick up the pieces in some increasingly wrong-headed ways.
More amazing adventures follow--but reader, why spoil the fun? Suffice to say, Michael Chabon writes novels like the Escapist busts locks. Previous books such as
The Mysteries of Pittsburgh and Wonder Boys have prose of equal shimmer and wit, and yet here he seems to have finally found a canvas big enough for his gifts. The whole enterprise seems animated by love: for his alternately deluded, damaged, and painfully sincere characters; for the quirks and curious innocence of tough-talking wartime New York; and, above all, for comics themselves, "the inspirations and lucubrations of five hundred aging boys dreaming as hard as they could." Far from negating such pleasures, the Holocaust's presence in the novel only makes them more pressing. Art, if not capable of actually fighting evil, can at least offer a gesture of defiance and hope--a way out, in other words, of a world gone completely mad. Comic-book critics, Joe notices, dwell on "the pernicious effect, on young minds, of satisfying the desire to escape. As if there could be any more noble or necessary service in life." Indeed. --Mary Park --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.







THEN WE CAME TO THE END
Joshua Ferris

In this wildly funny debut from former ad man Ferris, a group of copywriters and designers at a Chicago ad agency face layoffs at the end of the '90s boom. Indignation rises over the rightful owner of a particularly coveted chair ("We felt deceived"). Gonzo e-mailer Tom Mota quotes Walt Whitman and Ralph Waldo Emerson in the midst of his tirades, desperately trying to retain a shred of integrity at a job that requires a ruthless attention to what will make people buy things. Jealousy toward the aloof and "inscrutable" middle manager Joe Pope spins out of control. Copywriter Chris Yop secretly returns to the office after he's laid off to prove his worth. Rumors that supervisor Lynn Mason has breast cancer inspire blood lust, remorse, compassion. Ferris has the downward-spiraling office down cold, and his use of the narrative "we" brilliantly conveys the collective fear, pettiness, idiocy and also humanity of high-level office drones as anxiety rises to a fever pitch. Only once does Ferris shift from the first person plural (for an extended fugue on Lynn's realization that she may be ill), and the perspective feels natural throughout. At once delightfully freakish and entirely credible, Ferris's cast makes a real impression. (Mar.) Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. From The Washington Post's Book World/washingtonpost.comReviewed by James P. Othmer
Several pages into Joshua Ferris's very funny and impressively observed first novel, "Then We Came to the End," we start comparing it with other memorable novels about the world of advertising. But after a few chapters we broaden the parameters and consider it in terms of the corporate novel, the office novel, the cube farm novel. By now, we've met most of the characters -- an eccentric, paranoid, hypercritical group at a failing Chicago ad agency -- and we realize that not only do we want to know more about them, but we've also begun to feel as if we are one of them, congregating in the hall to discuss yet another round of layoffs, the latest confounding assignment or the disturbing behavior of a co-worker. Which is why we conclude that categorizing "Then We Came to the End" as anything other than an original and inspired work of fiction would be doing it a great disservice.
For starters, there's Ferris's clever use of the first-person-plural voice of "We" (which we've decided to co-opt for this review). As the novel commences in the late 1990s, we're introduced to the workplace by way of a collective recollection of headier times:
"We were fractious and overpaid. . . It was the era of take-ones and tchotchkes. The world was flush with Internet cash and we got our fair share of it. It was our position that logo design was every bit as important as product performance and distribution systems. 'Wicked cool' were the words we used to describe our logo designs. 'Bush league' were the words we used to describe the logo designs of other agencies -- unless it was a really well-designed logo, in which case we bowed down before it, much like the ancient Mayans did their pagan gods. We, too, thought it would never end."
While the We voice contributes to the book's strangely compelling vibe, it also presents challenges. Occasionally, the narrative suffers from too many anecdotes that begin along the lines of, We heard such and such from so and so who heard it from . . . And in the first sections, the collective We represents such a large, diverse group that it's difficult to feel emotionally vested. But this is only because Ferris does not cheat, and his discipline pays off nicely in the end.
The primary characters are revealed as broad types, as if described by a slightly snarky co-worker on our first day at the office. That's Tom Mota, an Emerson-quoting, increasingly unhinged divorc‚ who wears three company polo shirts, every day. By the copy machine is Chris Yop, who's still coming to work even though he was fired days ago. And the guy around whom the others are gathered, that's Benny Shassburger, recounting the latest maudlin rumors. In better times, Benny would talk loudly and without fear of recrimination. But now, "We would listen with only one ear, and with one eye always over our shoulders, in case we needed to bolt back to our desks and commence the charade that our workload was as strong as ever, because only then would we not be laid off."
And laid off they will be. As the economy spirals into a full-blown downturn, an increasing number of employees are forced to "walk Spanish" (a euphemism for being fired, inspired by Spanish Main pirates walking toward execution). Of course, this is when the book becomes most interesting. What began as a workplace farce starts transforming the cumulative pathos of everyday tics into something more meaningful. With the layoffs and the threat of more to come, we are suddenly walking the halls of an office consumed by fear, insecurity and a compulsive fixation on the quotidian extracurricular details of its co-workers.
At times the characters suffer from an excess of eccentricities and tragedies large and small. But Ferris skillfully balances the comic with the authentic, the insightful with the absurd, and we can't help but be transfixed by their stories. Now, when Benny opens a window onto the soul of a co-worker, we have to know more. "We did not like not knowing something. We could not abide being left in the dark." Everyone wonders if Lynn does have cancer, or if Joe is gay, or if Carl stole Janine's meds, but no one ever bothers to ask the person in question.
At first, this may read as another of Ferris's many brilliant workplace observations. But it unearths a deeper truth about the human condition that is revealed in the novel's satisfying denouement: The people with whom we spend the most time are those we know the least. And yet, somehow, they're the ones we know better than anyone else.



BOOMSDAY
Christopher Buckley
Reviewed by Jessica Cutler - It's the end of the world as we know it, especially if bloggers are setting the national agenda. In his latest novel, Buckley imagines a not-so-distant future when America teeters on the brink of economic disaster as the baby boomers start retiring. Buckley takes on such pressing (however boring) topics as Social Security reform and fiscal solvency, as does his protagonist. And get this: she's a blogger.Buckley's heroine is "a morally superior twenty-nine-year-old PR chick" who blogs at night about the impending Boomsday budget crisis. Of course, "she was young, she was pretty, she was blonde, she had something to say." She has a large, doting audience that eagerly awaits her every blog entry. And her name? Cassandra. And the name of her blog? Also Cassandra. Of course, Buckley doesn't let his allusion get by us:"She was a goddess of something," another character struggles to remember, which gives his heroine the opportunity to educate us about the significance of her namesake."Daughter of the king of Troy. She warned that the city would fall to the Greeks," she explains. "Cassandra is sort of a metaphor for catastrophe prediction. This is me. It's what I do." So Cassandra, doing what she does, starts by calling for "an economic Bastille Day" and her minions take to destroying golf courses in protest. Cassandra grabs headlines and magazine covers, and the president starts wringing his hands over what she might blog about next. Her follow-up: a radical but tantalizingly expedient solution to that most vexing of issues, the Social Security problem—Cassandra proposes that senior citizens kill themselves in exchange for tax breaks. Buckley, author of Thank You for Smoking, shows great imagination as he fires his pistol at the feet of his straw women and men. In 300-plus pages, though, it would be nice if he had found a way to endear us to at least one of his characters. Yes, we know that Washington is "an asshole-rich environment," as one puts it, but some Tom Wolfe–style self-loathing might be good for characters who use the word touché. Full disclosure: I'm a blogger of Cassandra's generation, and at times the totally over-the-top, relentlessly us-against-them scenario reminded me that I was reading a book written by someone not of the blogging generation, someone who Cassandra would want put down. Oh, the irony in these generationalist feelings. Then again, maybe that's exactly Buckley's point.Jessica Cutler is the author of The Washingtonienne. Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. From The Washington Post's Book World/washingtonpost.comReviewed by Judy Budnitz
Does government-sanctioned suicide offer the same potential for satire as, say, the consumption of children? Possibly. One need only look to Kurt Vonnegut's story "Welcome to the Monkey House," with its "Federal Ethical Suicide Parlors" staffed by Juno-esque hostesses in purple body stockings. Or the recent film "Children of Men," in which television commercials for a suicide drug mimic, to an unsettling degree, the sunsets-and-soothing-voices style of real pharmaceutical ads. Now, Christopher Buckley ventures into a not-too-distant future to engage the subject in his new novel, Boomsday.
Here's the set-up: One generation is pitted against another in the shadow of a Social Security crisis. Our protagonist, Cassandra Devine, is a 29-year-old public relations maven by day, angry blogger by night. Incensed by the financial burden soon to be placed on her age bracket by baby boomers approaching retirement, she proposes on her blog that boomers be encouraged to commit suicide. Cassandra insists that her proposal is not meant to be taken literally; it is merely a "meta-issue" intended to spark discussion and a search for real solutions. But the idea is taken up by an attention-seeking senator, Randy Jepperson, and the political spinning begins.
Soon Cassandra and her boss, Terry Tucker, are devising incentives for the plan (no estate tax, free Botox), an evangelical pro-life activist is grabbing the opposing position, the president is appointing a special commission to study the issue, the media is in a frenzy, and Cassandra is a hero. As a presidential election approaches, the political shenanigans escalate and the subplots multiply: There are nursing-home conspiracies, Russian prostitutes, Ivy League bribes, papal phone calls and more.
Buckley orchestrates all these characters and complications with ease. He has a well-honed talent for quippy dialogue and an insider's familiarity with the way spin doctors manipulate language. It's queasily enjoyable to watch his characters concocting doublespeak to combat every turn of events. "Voluntary Transitioning" is Cassandra's euphemism for suicide; "Resource hogs" and "Wrinklies" are her labels for the soon-to-retire. The opposition dubs her "Joan of Dark."
It's all extremely entertaining, if not exactly subtle. The president, Riley Peacham, is "haunted by the homophonic possibilities of his surname." Jokes are repeated and repeated; symbols stand up and identify themselves. Here's Cassandra on the original Cassandra: "Daughter of the king of Troy. She warned that the city would fall to the Greeks. They ignored her. . . . Cassandra is sort of a metaphor for catastrophe prediction. This is me. It's what I do." By the time Cassandra asks Terry, "Did you ever read Jonathan Swift's 'A Modest Proposal'?" some readers may be crying, "O.K., O.K., I get it."
Younger readers, meanwhile, may find themselves muttering, "He doesn't get it." The depiction of 20-somethings here often rings hollow, relying as it does on the most obvious signifiers: iPods, videogames, skateboards and an apathetic rallying cry of "whatever."
But Buckley isn't singling out the younger generation. He's democratic in his derision: boomers, politicians, the media, the public relations business, the Christian right and the Catholic Church get equal treatment. Yet despite the abundance of targets and the considerable display of wit, the satire here is not angry enough -- not Swiftian enough -- to elicit shock or provoke reflection; it's simply funny. All the drama takes place in a bubble of elitism, open only to power players -- software billionaires, politicians, lobbyists, religious leaders. The general population is kept discretely offstage. Even the two groups at the center of the debate are reduced to polling statistics. There are secondhand reports of them acting en masse: 20-somethings attacking retirement-community golf courses, boomers demanding tax deductions for Segways. But no individual faces emerge. Of course, broadness is a necessary aspect of satire, but here reductiveness drains any urgency from the proceedings. There's little sense that lives, or souls, are at stake.
Even Cassandra, the nominal hero, fails to elicit much sympathy. Her motivations are more self-involved than idealistic: She's peeved that her father spent her college fund and kept her from going to Yale. And she's not entirely convincing as the leader and voice of her generation. Though her blog has won her millions of followers, we never see why she's so popular; we never see any samples of her blogging to understand why her writing inspires such devotion. What's even more curious is that, aside from her blog, she seems to have no contact with other people her own age. Her mentors, her lover and all of her associates are members of the "wrinklies" demographic.
Though I was willing for the most part to sit back and enjoy the rollicking ride, one incident in particular strained my credulity to the breaking point: Cassandra advises Sen. Jepperson to use profanity in a televised debate as a way of wooing under-30 voters, and the tactic is a smashing success. If dropping an f-bomb were all it took to win over the young folks, Vice President Cheney would be a rock star by now.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Christine's book selections

Revolutionary Road - Richard Yates

The rediscovery and rejuvenation of Richard Yates's 1961 novel Revolutionary Road is due in large part to its continuing emotional and moral resonance for an early 21st-century readership. April and Frank Wheeler are a young, ostensibly thriving couple living with their two children in a prosperous Connecticut suburb in the mid-1950s. However, like the characters in John Updike's similarly themed Couples, the self-assured exterior masks a creeping frustration at their inability to feel fulfilled in their relationships or careers. Frank is mired in a well-paying but boring office job and April is a housewife still mourning the demise of her hoped-for acting career. Determined to identify themselves as superior to the mediocre sprawl of suburbanites who surround them, they decide to move to France where they will be better able to develop their true artistic sensibilities, free of the consumerist demands of capitalist America. As their relationship deteriorates into an endless cycle of squabbling, jealousy and recriminations, their trip and their dreams of self-fulfillment are thrown into jeopardy. Yates's incisive, moving, and often very funny prose weaves a tale that is at once a fascinating period piece and a prescient anticipation of the way we live now. Many of the cultural motifs seem quaintly dated--the early-evening cocktails, Frank's illicit lunch breaks with his secretary, the way Frank isn't averse to knocking April around when she speaks out of turn--and yet the quiet desperation at thwarted dreams reverberates as much now as it did years ago. Like F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby, this novel conveys, with brilliant erudition, the exacting cost of chasing the American dream. --Jane Morris, Amazon.co.uk


Grendel - John Gardner

John Gardner's "Grendel" shines an odd spotlight on English literature's earliest antihero. When reading "Beowulf," who really ponders the character of the monster Grendel, who after all is not so much a literary character as an object for Beowulf to defeat as an exhibition of his heroism? Gardner sees the shaggy, anthropomorphous monster as a painfully self-conscious creature bellowing in rage at the forces of nature in agonistic protest against his miserable existence as a descendant of the cursed race of Cain.

Grendel is sad, lonely, and bored. His only friend (besides his mother, who offers little conversational companionship) is a wise ancient dragon who sits on a massive treasure hoard and mentors the young beast in the significance of being a monster, that having the power to terrify and brutalize is just as much an affirmation of life as killing to eat. And killing is Grendel's forte: He repeatedly targets the thanes of Hrothgar, king of the Danes, who, as descendants of the blessed race of Abel, intrigue him; voyeuristically he spies on them in their meadhalls, sardonically observing their folly, believing that he provides for them a healthy challenge to their complacency. He particularly enjoys the ineffectual assaults of a warrior named Unferth who seeks hero status by trying to slay Grendel numerous times and whom Grendel always spares out of spite, to dishonor him and amplify his ineptitude.

If Grendel were human, he'd be called a sociopath. He hates himself, men, and the world, but he turns his extreme negativity into a strange attitude of superiority -- he likes to show his enemies that he can always beat them, that they're defenseless against his aggression and foolish as well. Of course, he finally realizes his limits when one fateful day an unnamed Geat prince arrives on Hrothgar's shores, ready to claim his own superiority.

A few weeks ago I read Jean Rhys's "Wide Sargasso Sea," which invents a background story for a mysteriously obscure but important character from "Jane Eyre." Gardner employs the same concept in "Grendel" and even uses a similar postmodern prose style, but he succeeds where Rhys failed because he gives Grendel a personality, a reason to exist as a character, and doesn't just make him a mute symbol of victimization. Grendel is a powerhouse and doesn't need anybody to feel sorry or make excuses for him. The existentialist monster, November 10, 2003 By A.J. (Maryland)


The Sparrow
- Mary Doria Russell

An enigma wrapped inside a mystery sets up expectations that prove difficult to fulfill in Russell's first novel, which is about first contact with an extraterrestrial civilization. The enigma is Father Emilio Sandoz, a Jesuit linguist whose messianic virtues hide his occasional doubt about his calling. The mystery is the climactic turn of events that has left him the sole survivor of a secret Jesuit expedition to the planet Rakhat and, upon his return, made him a disgrace to his faith. Suspense escalates as the narrative ping-pongs between the years 2016, when Sandoz begins assembling the team that first detects signs of intelligent extraterrestrial life, and 2060, when a Vatican inquest is convened to coax an explanation from the physically mutilated and emotionally devastated priest. A vibrant cast of characters who come to life through their intense scientific and philosophical debates help distract attention from the space-opera elements necessary to get them off the Earth. Russell brings her training as a paleoanthropologist to bear on descriptions of the Runa and Jana'ata, the two races on Rakhat whose differences are misunderstood by the Earthlings, but the aliens never come across as more than variations of primitive earthly cultures. The final revelation of the tragic human mistake that ends in Sandoz's degradation isn't the event for which readers have been set up. Much like the worlds it juxtaposes, this novel seems composed of two stories that fail to come together. Copyright 1996 Reed Business Information, Inc.

Monday, June 18, 2007

Meeting June 28, 2007

Just a reminder that we will be meeting Thursday June 28, 2007 at John's house to discuss Melissa's book Double Bind. Directions and food assignments will follow closer to the event.

Thursday, April 19, 2007

Meeting May 31, 2007

The next meeting will be Thursday, May 31, 2007 at Jasmine's house to discuss Rachelle's book, The Inheritance of Loss. John will present his book selections and I will distribute Melissa's book, The Double Bind.

Monday, April 16, 2007

Melissa's Book Selections

Wide Sargasso Sea
by Jean Ehys

I always wanted to read this book, but never did. If you read Jane Eyre, this is the story of the life Mr. Rochester had with his wife before he brought her from the Caribbean and locked her up in the attic in England. It is only 96 pages, though.... A review:

As a prequel to the classic, Jane Eyre, Wide Sargasso Sea lives up to the expectation of Bronte's novel. Carefully crafted around the most minute details Bronte used, Jean Rhys constructs a novel that is poetic and figurative in its language to describe the life of the woman in the attic. Rhys changes Bertha Mason's name to Antoinette Cosway as the first step in painting the Caribbean landscape which is carried through most of the novel, until the final part where Bronte's work threads through. Giving a voice to this mysterious character that Bronte chose not to detail sheds enormous light on Rochester's future perspective on relationships. Although short and succint, Rhys novel will surely give Jane Eyre readers a new light through which to analyze the time - honored novel. I recommend reading Jane Eyre first, even though this is considered the prequel. Understanding Jane Eyre will allow Rhy's work to have more depth, especially at the end.

“When night comes, and she has had several drinks and sleeps, it is easy to take the keys. I know now where she keeps them. Then I open the door and walk into their world. It is, as I always knew, made of cardboard. They tell me I am in England but I don’t believe them. We lost our way to England. When? Where? I don’t remember, but we lost it.”

Those who have never come across Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre should avoid reading this review, as it reveals most of the plot of the novel. Anyway, I strongly recommend reading Jane Eyre before it’s 20th century “prequel”, Wide Sargasso Sea.Those who have enjoyed Charlotte Brontë’s masterpiece probably remember Bertha Mason, Rochester’s first wife; the mad woman in the attic. Despite the fact that she only appears on rare occasions, her violent outbursts and increasing madness creep on the novel like a dark reminiscence of the gothic. Her role is important, indirectly, because she gives a disquieting ambiance to Thornfield hall, where Jane works as a governess. Bertha Mason accounts for most of Rochester’s fits of temper, and before being the cause of his accident toward the end of the book, she is the impediment to his marriage with the heroine.Despite her importance as a generator of events, she stands as the gothic ghostly element rather than being a real life-like character. This adds to the fact that her Creole origin (note that Bertha Mason is a white Creole; a British woman born in the Caribbean) defines her, in the beliefs of metropolitan 19th century, as “tropicalized by her environments, emotionally high-strung, lazy, and sexually excessive”. Rochester, in an attempt of self-justification to his bride-to-be, depicts his wife (that he had to marry according to paternal prescriptions) as a real monster:

"I lived with that woman upstairs four years, and before that time she has tried me indeed: her character ripened and developed with frightful rapidity; her vices sprang up fast and rank: they were so strong, only cruelty could check them; and I would not use cruelty. What a pigmy intellect she had – and what giant propensities! How fearful were the curses those propensities entailed on me! Bertha Mason, - the true daughter of an infamous mother, - dragged me through all the hideous and degrading agonies which must attend a man bond to a wife at once intemperate and unchaste".

Do you get the picture? Now how do you expect a 20th century feminist writer born in Dominica to react to Jane Eyre’s Victorian and racist views? By rewriting Bertha Mason’s life of course, and from the beginning.Some critics argue that Wide Sargasso Sea stands by itself in the world of literature, however, proceeding my own reading I couldn’t keep Jane Eyre out of my mind, and I think Jean Rhys wanted it that way too. After all, even if Rochester is never called by his name, we perfectly recognize him and as for most of the other characters, she has kept the same names (for instance Grace Poole, Bertha’s keeper).

Wide Sargasso Sea is divided in three parts of unequal lengths: the first part, the heroine’s childhood, is narrated by Bertha herself (or rather Antoinette, Bertha is the name Rochester will choose to call her by, despite her dislike of it).In the second part, the narration is shared between the male character (let’s call him Rochester) and Bertha-Antoinette; we witness the birth and fatal evolution of the relationship between the two protagonist in the Caribbean.The third part, taking place in England, leads to the expected conclusion: it is short but intense. After an introduction by Grace Poole, Bertha, from the attic where she has been locked up, resumes the narration until the dramatic conclusion.

Of course, there’s no surprise in the conduct of the events here, so why read Wide Sargasso sea in addition to Jane Eyre? Simply because it makes a powerful complement to it (I prefer calling it a complement rather than a revision), and enlightens the character of Bertha Mason, as well as Rochester (who still manages to remain sympathetic and victimized):

First of all, Jean Rhys emphasizes the similarities that already exist in Brontë’s novel, between Bertha and Jane Eyre (Jane doesn’t appear but once, almost in a ghostly manner, in Wide Sargasso Sea).

Rhys provides a knowledge of the Caribbean world and its problems derived from colonization, it reveals the discrepancies between British and Caribbean cultures.

Thus, Jean Rhys, dealing with Bertha’s evolution toward madness, brings us back to the initial sense of the word “alienation”. Bertha is alien to Rochester’s metropolitan culture and he strengthens her sense of inadequacy, as we can see in this scene between Bertha and Rochester:

“Is it true” she said, “that England is like a dream? Because one of my friends who married an Englishman wrote and told me so. She said this place London is like a cold dark dream sometimes. I want to wake up.”“Well” I answered annoyed, “that is precisely how your beautiful island seems to me, quite unreal and like a dream.”“But how can rivers and mountains and the sea be unreal?“And how can millions of people, their houses and their streets be unreal?”“More easily”, she said, “much more easily. Yes a big city must be like a dream.”“No, this is unreal and like a dream”, I thought.

Then We Came to the End
by Joshua Ferris

Cubicles of Mass Destruction A Review by Yvonne Zipp

In his very funny debut novel, Then We Came to the End, Joshua Ferris gives us Milton's spiritual heir: Chris Yop, a 40-something ad man who will risk arrest for the sake of "his" office chair.

Set at a Chicago ad agency at the turn of the century, Ferris's novel is for anyone who chuckles over "Dilbert," can recite lines from Office Space, or has an appointment on Thursday nights with The Office. Then We Came to the End is a vicious sendup of cubicle culture that somehow manages not to lose sight of its characters' humanity.

This is especially impressive, since Ferris's narrator is an unnamed worker explaining everything to the reader using the collective "we."

"We were fractious and overpaid. Our mornings lacked promise. At least those of us who smoked had something to look forward to at ten-fifteen. Most of us liked most everyone, a few of us hated specific individuals, one or two people loved everyone and everything. Those who loved everyone were unanimously reviled. We loved free bagels in the morning. They happened all too infrequently...."

When it comes to their actual work, Ferris spares readers no pain and insists on demonstrating exactly how mind-numbing it all is. "Our business was advertising," he explains, "and details were important. If the third number after the second hyphen in a client's toll-free number was a six instead of an eight, and if it went to print like that, and showed up in Time magazine, no one reading the ad could call now and order today. No matter they could go to the website, we still had to eat the price of the ad. Is this boring you yet? It bored us every day. Our boredom was ongoing, a collective boredom, and it would never die because we would never die."

Then the NASDAQ fizzles, and to the collective shock of workers used to growing fat off the "new economy," layoffs hit hard. "What we didn't consider was that in a downturn, we were the mismanaged inventory, and we were about to be dumped like a glut of imported circuit boards."
Every day, those who are left meet to gossip. They gossip about the newly departed, about who swiped the best stuff from the now empty offices, about who is likely to be next. They gossip about the thief who's been stealing personal items from cubicles, about whether the fired Tom Mota really will come back with a gun to blow everyone away, about the personal tragedies their co-workers are grappling with, and about the pranks played on the hated middle manager, Joe Pope.

These range from a sushi roll taped behind his wall to a nasty slur scrawled with a Sharpie. In between gossip sessions, they try to look busy -- no easy feat since the only work left is a pro bono campaign of which no one can make heads or tails.

Ferris breaks narrative point of view only once: Their supervisor, Lynn Mason, who "dressed like a Bloomingdale's model and ate like a Buddhist monk," is rumored to be battling cancer. The night before her rumored surgery (despite the fact that everyone knows everyone else better than their own families do, real information is surprisingly hard to nail down), Ferris leaves the office to follow Lynn home. It's a poignant chapter around which the whole novel pivots.

If Ferris were just being clever and snarky, Then We Came to the End, would buckle in on itself long before the warm-hearted epilogue. But even his most gonzo creation is given a sympathetic aspect that saves him from caricature.

This is not to say that the office is entirely a realistic creation. For example, the law of averages alone should mean you could find at least one happy marriage in an agency that occupied three floors of a skyscraper. (And on a side note, I got very tired of the phrase "walking Spanish down the hall," which Ferris borrows from Tom Waits, although I guess he had to come up with something besides "laid off.")

But Ferris allows enough sunlight to filter in through the fluorescents that a reader is left wishing his characters well as they polish up their résumés, dry-clean their interview suits, and head off to the next chapter in their lives.


The Double Bind: A Novel
Chris Bohjalian
The title of the artfully crafted, terrifying new novel "The Double Bind" comes from an expression coined by anthropologist Gregory Bateson, a reference to his "theory that a particular brand of bad parenting could inadvertently spawn schizophrenia," explains Laurel Estabrook, the main character. "Essentially, it meant consistently offering a child a series of contradictory messages: telling him you loved him while turning away in disgust.... Over a long period of time, Bateson hypothesized, a child would realize that he couldn't possibly win in the real world, and as a coping mechanism would develop an unreal world of his own."
This is a clue in a book full of clues. Indeed, author Chris Bohjalian has, in the course of writing 10 novels in the last 18 years, learned a thing or two about self-deception and the smoke screens we design to avoid connecting the dots. Book by book, he has taken on issues that confront us personally but also socially and culturally. Homelessness is the issue in "The Double Bind" — in particular, the assumption we often make: that street people were born homeless and could not possibly have achieved any kind of success in a life and that therefore it could not possibly happen to us.
The novel's first sentence is "Laurel Estabrook was nearly raped the fall of her sophomore year of college." The traumatic image it evokes creates a protective, sympathetic feeling for Laurel, who goes on to finish college in Burlington, Vt., and take a job as a social worker in a city homeless shelter. There she meets Bobbie Crocker, who is 56 years older than Laurel.
When he dies early in the novel, Laurel's boss gives her a box of professional photographs Crocker claimed to have taken. The first time she shuffles through the photos, she recognizes not only the tony Long Island neighborhood where she grew up (West Egg, the fictional home of Jay Gatsby — the first hint that the author is weaving in places and characters from F. Scott Fitzgerald's "The Great Gatsby") but also a shot of the wooded road she was biking on when she was assaulted. (The two men who attacked her have long since been apprehended.) The other photos are of such famous figures as Coretta Scott King, Paul Newman and Bob Dylan.
When her boss asks her to create a fundraising event — a show of Crocker's photographs — Laurel is caught in a maze of mysteries. She becomes obsessed with the photographer's identity, suspecting that hewas the son of Tom and Daisy Buchanan. (In the Fitzgerald novel, Daisy has an affair with Gatsby and Tom has one with Myrtle Wilson; when Myrtle is run over by a car and left for dead, her husband kills Gatsby and turns the gun on himself.)
Laurel thinks she's being followed by people hired by Crocker's eightysomething-year-old sister, Pamela Buchanan Marshfield, who wants the pictures back. Laurel believes they are proof that the Buchanans' son did not die in a car crash at 16 (the family's story) but was rejected by his wealthy relatives and that it was Daisy, not Gatsby, who killed Myrtle Wilson.
Bohjalian has written a literary thriller. He builds his characters around his story, which means that every so often a reader sees the scaffolding of the story in their skeletons; most of them could not exist independent of the intricate and fast-paced plot. Laurel is an unforgettable, vulnerable, complicated character, as is Crocker. This is because the author has imagined them more fully than the others and because we, as readers, must decide whether we trust them.
Interspersed throughout the book are italicized patient reports written by Kenneth Pierce, the attending psychiatrist at Vermont State Hospital in Waterbury. There are also several photographs given (in real life) to Bohjalian by the director of the Committee on Temporary Shelter in Burlington. They were taken, he writes in the author's note, by a "once-homeless man who had died in the studio apartment [the] organization had found for him. His name was Bob 'Soupy' Campbell."
The pictures blur the line between reality and fiction, as photos so often do, making reality seem an even more precarious and dizzying height from which to read a work of fiction.


Saving Fish From Drowning
by Amy Tan

A provocative novel from the bestselling author of The Joy Luck Club and The Bonesetter's Daughter.
On an ill-fated art expedition into the southern Shan state of Burma, eleven Americans leave their Floating Island Resort for a Christmas-morning tour-and disappear. Through twists of fate, curses, and just plain human error, they find themselves deep in the jungle, where they encounter a tribe awaiting the return of the leader and the mythical book of wisdom that will protect them from the ravages and destruction of the Myanmar military regime.
Saving Fish from Drowning seduces the reader with a fagade of Buddhist illusions, magician's tricks, and light comedy, even as the absurd and picaresque spiral into a gripping morality tale about the consequences of intentions-both good and bad-and about the shared responsibility that individuals must accept for the actions of others.
A pious man explained to his followers: "It is evil to take lives and noble to save them. Each day I pledge to save a hundred lives. I drop my net in the lake and scoop out a hundred fishes. I place the fishes on the bank, where they flop and twirl. 'Don't be scared,' I tell those fishes. 'I am saving you from drowning.' Soon enough, the fishes grow calm and lie still. Yet, sad to say, I am always too late. The fishes expire. And because it is evil to waste anything, I take those dead fishes to market and I sell them for a good price. With the money I receive, I buy more nets so I can save more fishes."


Snow Flower And The Secret Fan
by Lisa See
Snow Flower and The Secret Fan is set in 19th-century China where women are kept secluded and never intermingle with the men. Lily has beautiful feet, once they're broken and bound, which should attract her a desirable husband. To improve her chances of attracting a wealthy man, her matchmaker pairs her with a laotong -- "old sames" -- a girl from a wealthy family named Snow Flower. Old sames are best friends for life and their relationship is closer and more important than their husbands. The secluded women communicate via a secret language, call nu shu, and Lily and Snow Flower write it on a fan they use for correspondence. Nu shu is considered an unimportant language by men, so they never learn it. Lily and Snow Flower grow very close over the years, until Lily misinterprets a letter from Snow Flower, threatening her relationship with her only friend. Lisa See's novel has received positive reviews for its evocative descriptions of a culture long forgotten. The USA Today says, "If there is a sleeper summer hit, it should be this story, which draws you into a time not as ancient as it seems, touching your heart and breaking it at the same time."

Thursday, March 22, 2007

Meeting April 19

This is just a reminder that we will be meeting April 19, 2007 at Hera and Wayne’s house to discuss Jasmine’s book, I, Lucifer. Melissa will present her book selections and I will bring copies of the next book, Inheritance of Loss.